


Hollywood Ending

by NeoVenus22



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The true crime novel about the Lilly Kane case has just been released.  And Veronica's plans to read it go astray when she receives an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollywood Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Season 1.

The day Wallace officially met Logan Echolls for the first time was the day that the true crime novel came out. Wallace, Veronica, and Duncan were crammed onto Veronica's couch, staring in silence at the shiny hardcover with the unbroken spine. "Hollywood Ending," it was called, the macabre cover displaying a gold aware statuette, with a bloodied head wound. None of them had read the book, not even the blurb on the inside front cover or the review in the _New York Times_. Backup paced at their feet, understanding the high tension.

Veronica had mumbled something cryptic about her brother and her not-brother in order to explain Duncan's presence, and Wallace hadn't wanted to ask questions. He liked Duncan well enough, and if Veronica trusted him and still cared for him, then that was enough for Wallace. Besides, he was in the book as well, and it didn't seem fair for either of them to go through this alone.

But still they sat, staring at the book like it was the fourth person in the room. Afraid to touch it beyond Veronica's tentative fingerprints on the corners, as she'd pulled it from the Amazon packaging (they wouldn't dare go into stores to buy it). The tableau hadn't changed for half an hour, and Wallace had just about had enough. He was the least affected by the entire tragedy, and had just stretched his hand over to the book, when he was interrupted by a thundering at the front door, as though someone brought their battering ram over. Veronica stood up, answered the door, and Wallace wished he could have seen her face when she said, "Logan," because her voice gave nothing away.

Duncan immediately got to his feet. The door slammed open; no battering ram, just angry fists. It was clear within that first half second that Logan Echolls was beyond tanked. He eyed Veronica and Wallace in turn, and even though Duncan was prominently placed in the room and closer to Logan than the ratty couch was, Logan's drunken gaze spotted him last. "Didn't know it was a _party_," he spat.

"Calm down," Duncan said, hands raised in a placating gesture, speaking as though he'd dealt with this a million times, which Wallace suspected he had.

"_You_ calm the fuck down." Logan brushed past him to claim the armchair, sprawled out and glaring at the book. "And here it is. The motherfucking Bible to my entire life. Page twenty-three, Logan Echolls is born into a world he will never truly be prepared for. As he grows, he will be favored by his mother, teased by his sister, and tormented by his father. Trina Echolls is perhaps better known for being the first tangible product of Aaron's infidelity, than for her string of guest spots on primetime dramas."

"Logan, how much have you had to drink?" demanded Veronica, looking horrified. It hadn't escaped Wallace's attention that she'd stepped a bit closer to Duncan.

Logan responded by wiggling a flask in her direction, the lack of liquid thrashing against the sides tauntingly in an illustration of emptiness. "Logan finally finds the bright spot in his life, in the form of his girlfriend, Lilly Kane." He snorts. "They'll call Lilly 'impetuous' and 'comely', shit like that. Everyone's nicer to you when you're dead. I can think of any number of words to call her. Tramp. Whore. Lying, cocksucking _bitch_." Logan took another swig from his flask, then threw it across the room. It sailed over the TV and crashed against the wall with enough force that the three sober people in the room winced.

"Aaron Echolls is, of course, ruthlessly charming," he continued blithely. "Duncan, when you make it in, and you will eventually, they can't think of words to describe you. You are a nonentity. You are facts that the reader must skim to get to the next plot point. Lilly's brother, Jake's son, Logan's friend, possible suspect."

"Logan," Veronica said firmly. She stepped closer to him; to do what, Wallace didn't know.

Logan smirked at her proximity. "Well, blondie, how are things. The cast change is a bit interesting. Are you and Duncan all schmoopy again? Or what about him over there?" He nodded at Wallace, not knowing his name. "Are you shacking up with Shaq, or what?"

"Leave them alone. You didn't come for them, you came for me."

"Veronica. Oh, Veronica. You should hear when it gets to your part. Your clueless father. Your ruthless pursuit for the truth, how little you care for those in your way. Your ex-love, the bland Duncan. Your current beau, the tortured Logan. Friends, or suspects? The line is blurred for young Veronica Mars. And yet, you are still the heroine of this tale, the one with Aaron Echolls in your backseat, the one who is almost fricasseed to death..." Logan refused to take his eyes off of her, but Veronica didn't waver. "The one who brings him to ultimate justice, against all odds. But too late? You saw the telltale scars on Logan's back, yet the truth was too gruesome for you to accept until the tapes."

A certain maniacal light glimmered in Logan's eyes. They were all mesmerized by it, staring at him, enraptured, drawn into his story even though they all wanted him to leave.

"And lest we forget, the angst-fest that is the love triangle surrounding this whole drama. After all, what good murder story doesn't have a little romance on the side? Who is really the true winner of Veronica's sweet, blonde affections? Duncan Kane, the former boyfriend, the grieving brother, the bland and epileptic? Or Logan Echolls, the miserable boyfriend of a dead adulteress? Veronica spreads her taunting affection between them as easily as she spreads her legs for the football team in a fashion that earns her the nickname—"

Duncan's fist collided with Logan's jaw. The wasted 09er reeled back, eyes popping for a moment before rolling back in his skull, as his head tipped onto the firm back of the chair. Wallace decided for certain in that moment that he liked Duncan.

"That wasn't necessary," Veronica chastised him, but there was relief evident in her face that at last the horrific narration had stopped.

"He's wasted," said Duncan unnecessarily. "He should sleep some of it off. Or else I might not be so forgiving next time." His mouth set in a grim line.

"Let's take him to Veronica's room," offered Wallace, at last getting off of the couch, and the two of them stared at him for a moment in which he realized they'd forgotten he was there. It passed quickly, and Veronica patted his arm in thanks as he aided Duncan in lifting the deadweight.

"If he pukes in my room, I'm holding you two responsible," she announced, a smirk daring to cross her face as at last, some life trickled back into the room.

"I will _personally_ send the finest maid on the Kane payroll," said Duncan. It was the closest thing to a joke that Wallace had ever heard coming out of Duncan during the short duration in which they'd known each other. Mostly he just remained sullen and wordless.

Veronica stood in the doorway, watching as they dropped Logan on the bed. Despite the task, there was an easy sort of air between the three of them. Wallace was glad to see that things were relaxing, until he turned around to see Veronica staring at Logan with an unreadable expression. "I hate him," she declared, though there was something about her overall demeanor that suggested otherwise, something that Wallace couldn't quite place. She was in pain, that was for damn sure.

He slung his arm over her shoulders cheerfully, steering her away from the makeshift recovery room, and into the kitchen. "All this sitting has made me hungry," he announced. "And as my hostess, you're obligated to whip me up something sugary." He deposited his best friend in front of the fridge, and seated himself across the island, facing her with an eager smile. "Feed me, Seymour."

"All right," she said after a pause, and a ghost of a smile tweaked her features. She glanced past him at Duncan, who had presumably followed them. "And you, Master Kane? What's your poison?"

Duncan had returned to his trademark stoicism, hefting one shoulder in a poor imitation of a response, taking a seat. Wallace piped up with, "He'll have whatever the lady's having."

"The lady's chugging chocolate syrup from the bottle," answered Veronica, "and the lady's not sharing."

"Well, you know sugar makes him hyper," said Wallace, so desperate for an end to silence that he didn't care whether or not his comment might be in bad taste. He could only repair one person at a time, and Veronica took priority.

"I'm sorry I punched him," spoke up Duncan, and they both turned to look at him in surprise. He was looking at the countertop.

"I'm not," said Veronica. "And neither are you." She put down a mug of hot chocolate in front of each of them—where she'd gotten them from, Wallace had no idea.

"I hit him too hard," worried Duncan, gripping the mug as he cast glances over his shoulder at Veronica's door. "What if I killed him?"

"Then 'Hollywood Ending' will have a tragic sequel, and the movie adaptation will be a nationwide release, rather than a made-for-TV thing," said Wallace. He tilted his head to one side, mulling it over. "I wonder if Aaron Echolls will play himself."

Veronica let out a sound that was indistinguishable, and Wallace glanced over at her. She was braced against the table, her hair falling out of its loose ponytail over her face, and she was shaking. "Veronica..?" he said, alarmed, starting to get up, but her head lifted, and he realized she was laughing.

"Weird sense of humor, girl," he remarked, shaking his head and settling back down, but he couldn't help grinning at her. Gallows humor—no pun intended—or not, it was good to see her laugh.

There was another rattle of sound, knuckles on wood, and all three heads promptly turned towards Veronica's door before they realized it was in fact the front door. "Is this beginning to feel Shakespearean to anyone else?" she griped, before going to answer it. This time, there was no pause of confusion, rather the door just swinging open, and Weevil entering in a leather jacket despite the ninety-five-degree weather. "I was circlin' the lot and I saw his puke bucket, V," said Weevil, his fists bumping against each other at waist level, as though they were more eager than their owner to get to pummeling. "You need me to take out the trash?"

"You're checking up on me now, Weevil?" she said. "How sweet. In a stalkery kind of fashion."

"Violence is hereditary, V," said Weevil, and not for the first time, Wallace wondered how the biker had earned the right to use that nickname. "That scumbag's been trashed on his whole life, you think he hasn't picked up a lesson or two?"

"He's passed out in my bedroom," she said, as (weak) evidence that Logan was harmless. There was no way to miss that her voice was strained. "Duncan hit him."

Weevil looked over and saw Wallace and Duncan for the first time. "Richie Rich punched out his best friend. Damn if I haven't seen it all."

Duncan groaned softly, taking a swig of hot chocolate to soothe himself. Weevil straddled the empty chair on the other side of Wallace. Wallace tried to pretend to himself that he hadn't flinched slightly at being in such close proximity to the thug since he'd gained the upper hand with possession of a telltale tape. Weevil hadn't come anywhere near him since, so Wallace imagined he wasn't holding a grudge, but it still unnerved him.

"Why are you here again?" Veronica asked him, but she must not have been terribly upset with his guest appearance, because a fourth mug of hot chocolate appeared mysteriously in front of him.

"You do realize it's somethin' like a hundred degrees out," the biker remarked in return, gesturing at her with his full mug, but miraculously not spilling a drop. He then took a long swig.

They sat in silence for a long moment; it was obvious none of them knew what to say. Duncan was brooding again, as was Veronica. Weevil was looking as though he was trying to contain whatever anger had prompted him to stop at Veronica's house and invite himself in. Wallace was trying to figure out what he was doing there.

From the next room came a loud groan. "You didn't kill him," Wallace commented to Duncan, but it appeared to have gone unheard.

"Fuck _beans_," Logan moaned. "Where the fuck am I? Is this Hell? I think this is Hell."

Veronica and Duncan glanced at each other, and Wallace wasn't sure how to react when he saw the small smirks on each of their faces.

"Somebody better get me the fuck outta here, or I'm gonna have to start kicking some asses!"

"Remember when he used to be a silly drunk, and not an angry one?" said Duncan. Once again, they shared smiles, both getting up to go tend to their fallen friend. Wallace and Weevil remained seated; they had no ties to Logan. They had no ties to anyone except for Veronica.

A heavy silence fell over the kitchen, and Wallace waited until he'd drained his mug, the chocolate burning down his throat, before he said, "So, are you in the book?"

"Nah," said Weevil dismissively. "I ain't a suspect." He, too, took a drink. "You?"

"Ditto."

"Figures," said Weevil. "Minority characters aren't gettin' any play. Ain't that the way it always goes?"

"On the bright side, we're not getting a bad rap. No heavy racial stereotypes. Except for your gang," he added without thinking, and winced inwardly at the comment.

Weevil studied him for a long moment, so long that Wallace became uncomfortable. Surely the biker was thinking about how Wallace had screwed over two of his gang members, and then made a fool of them. The score had supposedly been settled, but Wallace didn't know Weevil well enough to know that he wouldn't once again be Weevil's bitch.

"You know, you and me, we got a lot more in common than some people might think."

It hadn't been the direction Wallace had been quite expecting, and as a result, he didn't know what to say. From Veronica's room, he heard a shout of "_Fuck!_," followed by a thump, but didn't know who it belonged to.

"Look at us. Every time Veronica says jump, we ask 'how high?' And yet we don't make it into their little tell-all novel. We're the most valuable assets, but the least valuable characters." He slammed his fist on the countertop. "Ain't life a bitch?"

All afternoon, as they sat in silence, Wallace had been thinking about how he'd run left and right, scoring information for Veronica's cases, unwittingly stumbling across small things that helped her ultimate case. He'd risked everything to help her, and he knew damn well that he wouldn't be in the pages of that nonfiction bestseller.

"Life is a bitch," he agreed heartily.

"Guys?" called Veronica, and Wallace knew what words were coming long before they'd left her mouth. "Could you do me a favor? Logan's damn heavy. We need some manpower in here, stat."

_'How high?'_ Weevil mouthed at Wallace, before saying out loud, "Comin', V."

Veronica conveniently forgot to mention that half of the hassle of attempting to move Logan was that he was conscious (though not coherent) and struggling, ranting liberally at anyone who attempted to manhandle him. "I'm going to make you all pay," he threatened in a strained voice. Duncan had his bicep gripped, but Logan had control of that limb from the elbow down, and he flapped it uselessly at his captors. "Get you all," he said, and coughed. He fell limp, and was now officially deadweight spread amongst the four of them.

"He's out again," said Veronica with a relieved sigh.

"Should we quarter him?" suggested Wallace with a half-grin, waving one of Logan's legs slightly. He was becoming progressively less fond of the heir of Echolls. He had screwed over Veronica on several occasions, then he had screwed up Veronica, and now he was screwing up Wallace's afternoon. Admittedly, Wallace's plans weren't exactly amusement park-caliber, but that didn't mean he'd wanted Veronica's potentially-psychotic ex-boyfriend with a history of violence, a well-known short temper, and equally well-known drinking problem to show up.

"No, let's just get him to his car. Duncan's going to drive him home."

"I should stay with him, I think," contributed Duncan as they moved in an awkward but speedy procession towards the door. "Someone should watch him and make sure he doesn't attempt to kill any of the staff."

"Mommy's dead, Daddy's in jail for murder, and he's _still_ got a wait staff?" said Weevil. "Shit, man. That just ain't right." He shook his head, glaring at Logan. "Fuckin' 09er kids."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Don't be shy, Weevil, say what you _really_ think," said Wallace. To his relief, Weevil smirked at the comment.

"Okay, Weevil's out for Logan-duty," said Veronica.

"I already said I'd do it," said Duncan.

"I'm not convinced you can handle it alone," Veronica argued. "A lot of things have changed."

"Um, guys?" said Wallace. "We have bigger fish to fry." He nodded his head at the closed door. "How the hell are we getting out?"

His query was greeted with a long silence. "Um..." said Veronica.

After a moment, Weevil said "Here," passed Logan's leg over to Wallace, who shifted in order to balance the sudden new weight, and opened the door. He returned to help Wallace, and repeated the process once they'd reached the bright yellow X-Terra, Duncan having lifted the keys from Logan's pocket the first time he'd been unconscious.

"I'll be back later," said Duncan. "Once he's less ornery."

"So never?" said Wallace.

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to come? I'm not sure you should do this on your own."

"I've been doing this for a long time," he said. "Besides. I'm the one that punched him in the first place. I owe the bastard."

"If you're sure," she pressed.

"It's fine," Duncan insisted, hopping into the driver's seat. The remaining three of them stood and watched as it cruised down the street, and Weevil went to his motorcycle.

"I'm gonna follow them," he announced. "Just in case."

Veronica rolled her eyes so that Weevil couldn't see, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed by Wallace, who hid a smile. "Please don't kill anyone, Weevil," said Veronica, and the biker grinned.

"Not today, V. Maybe tomorrow." He slipped on his helmet and nodded in Wallace's direction. "Catch you later, Fennel."

Wallace nodded back. "Right."

As the motorcycle pealed out after the X-Terra, Veronica widened her eyes at Wallace. "What was _that_ all about?"

"You're not the only one with secrets," said Wallace with an enigmatic grin, turning to head back to the apartment. He heard Veronica chasing after him.

"Wallace! Are you and Weevil buddies now?"

"Let's just say that the sidekick can also make connections."

"You're not my sidekick," she said, following him into the apartment. They found themselves on the couch once more. Backup, who'd been sleeping soundly under the table the entire time, poked his head out to cast them a weary eye.

"Oh yeah?" said Wallace cheerfully. He waved his hand at the unopened book. "Where's my starring role? My name isn't even in the credits."

"Oh, and you _want_ to be a part of this melee?" she retorted. "Tell you what. Next time a murdering psychopath goes after someone, I'll let you solve it." The words were morbid, but the smile on her face, while tired, was sincere. Wallace was glad to see that she had once again gained the ability to joke about things.

"All right. You're on, Mars," he said. He tossed a jovial arm around her shoulders. They sat there, grinning at each other like idiots, and Wallace could see it in her eyes—Veronica was coming around. Things would be okay, and that was all he could ask for. That was his Hollywood ending.


End file.
